No, Mia thought. No, no, no.
He was here in Sugar Falls? And he was her doctor? How had this happened?
“It’s you” was all he said. She stood there, stiff and numb, drinking in the sight of him but at a complete loss of what to say without looking foolish.
“You live here in Sugar Falls?” he asked when she remained silent. His eyes hadn’t blinked and hadn’t stopped their constant perusal of her. “And we’re meeting like this? How could this have happened?”
His words mirrored her own thought process so exactly that the nervous giggle she’d been trying to swallow almost bubbled out. But then he smiled as though Santa had just delivered a long-sought-after Christmas gift to him, and a familiar cold panic spread through her. Mia reached for the file, the one containing all her personal information, including the fact that she was now carrying this stranger’s child, and tried to yank it from his hands.
The hands that had so skillfully brought her body to life just two months ago.
* * *
Sugar Falls, Idaho: Your destination for true love!
From Dare to Due Date
Christy Jeffries
CHRISTY JEFFRIES received her Juris Doctor from California Western School of Law. But drafting court documents and working in law enforcement was merely an apprenticeship for her current career in the dynamic field of mummyhood and romance writing. She lives in Southern California with her patient husband, two energetic sons and one sassy grandmother. Follow her online at www.christyjeffries.com.
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To my handsome, hardworking and tolerant husband. When I finally figured out what I was looking for, you ended up being there all along. I was beyond lucky when you called me back.
You are my heart.
Contents
The melting ice cubes in Mia Palinski’s vodka and tonic were symbolic of the way her future was dissolving before her eyes.
She’d just turned thirty, yet no matter how many times she’d told herself that it was time to come to terms with her new life, she still couldn’t shake the lingering wish that tonight it should’ve been her up on the stage of the Egyptian Theatre, pirouetting across the dance floor.
Watching the piano player on the opposite end of the bar, she wondered if the balding man once had bigger aspirations than playing old standards in the lounge of some swanky hotel in downtown Boise. Most performers did. At least she could take comfort in the thought that she wasn’t the only one not living her dream.
And while she didn’t begrudge her darling students their chance to shine in their roles as the fairy-tale wedding guests in the Idaho Youth Performing Arts’ rendition of Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty, Mia would have been more comfortable if she hadn’t been stuck backstage with Mrs. Rosellino, who thought her six-year-old daughter was going to be the next Martha Graham.
Along with most of the other dance instructors who had students performing in tonight’s ballet, Mia referred to the delusional stage moms as idealists. Because unless sweet Madison Rosellino miraculously developed a decent amount of rhythm and learned to keep her finger out of her nose during performances, the sweet and quiet girl would probably never make it to Juilliard.
Her eye gave an involuntary twitch at the memory of her own mother, who was so similar to the Mrs. Rosellinos of the world. Mia took a sip of her now diluted drink, trying to wash away the reminder of the well-meaning but overbearing woman who had pushed her only child into competitive cheer rather than classical dance. Rhonda Palinski had wanted all eyes on Mia and had forcefully maneuvered her daughter onto the football fields, where the stages were bigger, the lights were brighter and the crowds were rowdier.
Her phone vibrated